


Leashed

by penny



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: come_shots, D/s, M/M, Uniform Fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-08
Updated: 2009-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's Archer's man, and Archer is spit-shined boots, crisp creases, and starched collars. So now he's spit-shined boots, crisp creases, and starched collars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leashed

**Author's Note:**

> For the Come Shots ~~uniform fetish~~ costume theme.

The safe house in Central isn't much of an improvement over the one Archer had him in back in Dublith. It gets better water pressure, though, and the hot water doesn't crap out after three minutes, so Kimberly lets himself be satisfied. Showers are still a luxury even though he's been out of Second for weeks. And it's best to focus on the little luxuries, because Archer isn't going to get him back in the military. Kimberly knows the best he'll get is protection from prying eyes, some work when Archer needs a target eliminated. It will eventually chafe on him, but until he finds something better, he'll make do.

And Archer's decent company when he's around. He seems fascinated by Kimberly's experiences -- his alchemy training and research, his time in Ishbal -- and leaves Kimberly with interesting material to work through in his absence -- break the code for Marcoh and Tringham's research notes, explain these arrays, make sense of these notes on Tucker's research. It's not what Kimberly would like to be doing, but it's not boring like the Devil's Nest.

Still, it's hard to resist the temptation to _hurt_ Archer every time he saunters in with that little smirk. The bastard likes plotting, likes getting everything in place before making a move, and it makes Kimberly want to ruin things.

But he doesn't. Archer demands patience. Kimberly's not a soldier anymore, but it's easy to follow orders. Especially when they're given by someone who expects obedience. So Kimberly ignores the itch in his palms and shows Archer the progress he's made on Marcoh's notes or explains the finer points of whatever arrays Archer splays out in front of him.

"I've got something different for you tonight," Archer says, and his smug tone makes Kimberly press his hands flat against the tabletop. It's so tempting to transmute the table, to make Archer regret toying with him. He's tired of all this.

Archer flashes him a knowing smile and places an envelope on the table. Kimberly allows himself to take in the wax seal. The State seal. He can't help it. He inhales sharply even though he knows Archer is watching for small, involuntary reactions, for weaknesses.

"I hope you'll be pleased," Archer says, sitting as Kimberly opens the envelope.

The paper is thick, cream-colored, watermarked with the State seal. Kimberly goes still as he reads. A full pardon, reinstatement into the military, including his commission as a State Alchemist, and back pay, including his research stipend. And a promotion. Effective immediately, he's Lieutenant Colonel Zolf J. Kimberly, the Crimson Alchemist, and fuck, it hits him harder than it should. What are titles and ranks when he has his power in his palms? More than he'd like to admit, apparently.

"I told you I'd reward your patience." Archer still sounds smug, and now Kimberly can't resent him for it.

But he's shown enough weakness. Kimberly slides the paper back into its envelope. "Paper's nice, but not what I want."

Archer smiles. It's as close to sensual as Kimberly's ever seen him get. "The 'paper' is to convince you I take care of my men. My _loyal_ men. Your reward," Archer's voice drops, and he slides a smaller envelope across the table, "is a return to active duty."

Kimberly stares at the envelope. He can't bring himself to open it, not with Archer watching him. He's already shown the bastard too much need. He licks his lips, eyes the new colonel bars on Archer's shoulders. "Under your command."

"Naturally." Archer rises, retrieves something from his pocket, and then leans over the table to place a silver pocket watch on top of the envelope Kimberly refuses to touch. "I'm not squeamish about using you, Crimson."

Kimberly's hand twitches towards the watch. No, Archer isn't squeamish. But Archer isn't a general. There are too many people between him and the Fuehrer.

* * *

His uniform is hanging from the hook on the back of the bedroom door. Kimberly can't bring himself to touch it. Not yet. Not until Archer's gone for the night. It's ironed to perfection, the lines starched and crisp, and he has a habit of...marring his uniforms.

He turns away and finally breaks the seal on his orders. Archer's already explained them -- word for word, Kimberly discovers as he reads. A rebellion in Liore, the use of force authorized in its suppression. Kimberly's palms itch.

His State Alchemist watch is heavy in his left hand. Kimberly traces the pattern engraved on the front. The presence of his uniform -- the power, the purpose, the artistry -- prickles down his spine and curls around the base of his cock. He can't believe Archer kept his word. Maybe there aren't too many people between Archer and the Fuehrer. Maybe Archer can use him the way he's meant to be used. Maybe he really is Crimson again.

Well, almost Crimson again. Crimson wears a uniform. Kimberly tosses his orders on the bed and strips naked.

Before, he hadn't worn the jacket or the skirt, and he only bothered with the pocket watch when he needed access to a library or his research funds. Before, the white shirt, pants, and boots were all he needed. That and his tattoos.

But now he's Archer's man, and Archer is spit-shined boots, crisp creases, and starched collars.

So now he's spit-shined boots, crisp creases, and starched collars. The uniform is heavier than he remembers. He takes his time putting it on, enjoying the scratch of the fabric on his thighs, the weight of the jacket on his shoulders. And he's careful with the watch, arranging it so the chain's obvious on his hip. Each layer adds to the hum of power down his spine, so he's fully hard by the time he's done.

The uniform is a perfect fit, but then, what else would Archer provide? Crimson rolls his shoulders. The jacket moves nicely, but he can feel it pulling across his chest, constraining him. He frowns and fingers the jacket's buttons. He's Archer's man, but he's still Crimson, still an alchemist who forces things apart. It's tempting to...to pop his jacket's buttons, to ruin the clean lines and crisp perfection. Plenty of soldiers do -- men under Archer's command, even -- but Crimson can't bring himself to do it yet. No, not until his colonel's seen him as the perfect soldier. It's the least he can do since Archer kept his word.

Ah, and he doesn't have to wait. He can hear Archer moving out of the kitchen. His boots are heavy on the floorboards, and he hits the creaky board in the hall. Perfect.

Crimson draws himself up so he's standing at attention when Archer raps on the door before swinging it open. A momentary flash of shock and surprise plays across the colonel's face as he takes in Crimson, but he's composed by the time he speaks. "So the uniform," his eyes drop briefly to Crimson's groin, "meets with your approval."

"It's a perfect fit, sir."

Archer smiles. "So I see." He looks Crimson over again, slowly this time. Crimson can't tell if the admiration and open desire Archer allows is a calculated display or honest emotion, but it doesn't matter. It's there, and Archer's moving closer, and Archer doesn't move unless he's prepared to act.

Archer circles around behind him. "It's still eight hours before we deploy." He's standing close enough that Crimson feels him, all controlled, coiled power.

"I doubt I'll sleep, sir."

"That won't do. I need you rested."

Crimson smiles. "It's a long train ride to Liore."

Archer steps closer. "So you're able sleep well on a train?"

The skin on Crimson's back prickles. Archer's breath is hot on his neck. Dry, like Ishbal. Like Liore will be. He lets his eyes slide to the left, but he stops himself from turning his head at the last moment. Archer hasn't said he could stand at ease yet.

"I can sleep well anywhere, sir."

"And you're certain I'll let you sleep on the train?" Archer places his hands on Crimson's hip, his palm flush against the watch's chain.

"You said you need me rested."

"Yes." Archer presses against him, slides his other hand around Crimson's waist to cup his cock, and Crimson can hear the smile in his voice.

There are so many things Crimson wants to do. Moan. Shudder. Thrust into Archer's hand. But he fights those urges, keeps standing at attention as Archer unzips his pants and frees his cock.

Still, he can't help inhaling sharply when Archer starts stroking him. The pace is slow, torturous, and it sends fiery tremors down Crimson's spine. "Is this another reward, sir?"

Archer hums. "A test."

Crimson's palms throb in time with his cock. Archer's fingers are callused, and it feels damn good. Crimson licks his lips. A test, huh? Of obedience or endurance? Ah, it doesn't matter. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Archer's hand on his cock, Archer's breath on his neck, the tremor down his spine.

He doesn't last long. Archer is relentless, and Crimson imagines being unleashed in Liore. It unfurls in his mind -- the heat of the fires, the smell of sulfur and smoke and burning flesh, the taste of ash, the rumble of explosions tight at the base of his cock. He trembles when he comes, and it's Archer's hand on his hip that keeps him standing at attention.

Archer squeezes his hip, then reaches around with his clean hand to tuck Crimson back in his pants. "Very good, lieutenant colonel. At ease."

Crimson doesn't relax, but he catches Archer's wrist, raises his hand to lick his come from Archer's fingers. Torturously slow, because that's equivalent exchange, because it makes Archer go still behind him, like he's surprised and pleased and perhaps a little afraid. Crimson finishes by tonguing the outline of his solar array on Archer's palm.

Archer makes a low, satisfied noise. He waits for Crimson to finish, then works loose the top two buttons of Crimson's jacket. "You'll take care of Liore for me."

It's a good order. Crimson smiles. "Yes, sir."


End file.
